Confidences
by Lynnadaine
Summary: Draco comes to talk to Hermione in the middle of the night. He asks something of her, but is she willing to give it? *Ch 1 up*
1. Prologue

Hermione bolted upright in her bed. She felt terror clutch at her, something that wasn't quite a continuation of her dream. Though the dream of her sitting in class naked, without even her homework still made her heart cold and her stomach flutter, this was something else. She gripped her bedclothes tight, peering around her, brown eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher the shadows.  
  
"Is someone there?" she whispered, pulling her sheets up a little closer to her neck. Had she forgotten to lock her door? She still was growing used to having her own room. As Head Girl, she was given a very small one of her own, and the silence nearly drowned her.  
  
Her own breaths were coming more frequently. She was panicking, and what for? Finally, she reached to the small table next to her bed, pushing books to the floor as she searches a little frantically for her wand. Her long fingers wrapped around it, and she whispered into the darkness, "iLumos./i" A golden light appeared, chasing the shadows away. As she looked around, she still saw nothing. Except that her door was partly open.  
  
Cursing softly at her neglectfulness, something so very out of character for her, Hermione slid off the bed, wrapping her sheet around her. She also cursed the fact that she had taken to sleeping naked. Tucking the sheets tightly under her arms, she tiptoed, wand in hand, to the door. "Harry?" she whispered, leaning out and looking down the corridor. She saw nothing and heard nothing except the muffled snores from the other Gryffindors a couple rooms down.  
  
She exhaled softly, closing the door tightly and whispering a simple locking spell. When she was confident that all outside forces were barred from coming in, she rested her forehead against the warm wood. Who had opened her door? She had noticed that Harry had been acting odd around her lately, and wouldn't put it past him to confront her in these late hours. It would be like him not to want to interrupt her studies. Sleep was fine to disturb, of course...  
  
As she walked back to her bed, she was still not completely comfortable. Maybe it was just the aftermath of the earlier panic. When she looked up, her eyes met a piercing gaze. Gasping, she dropped her wand, the light blinking out, now that was no longer sustaining the spell. She found her voice enough to whisper, "Who's there?"  
  
"It's me, Hermione." The voice was soft in the silence, like a caress over her cheek. She shivered, a blush spreading over her skin as she remembered her lack of dress.  
  
Her tongue flicked over her lips before she spoke again. "Draco? Why are you in here?" Hermione's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Get out."  
  
His chuckle felt like feathers on her spine. Or, what she assumed feathers on her spine would feel like. She felt him move closer. He was very close, and she nearly dropped her sheet in surprise when his voice was so close. "Why do you hate me?" Draco's musical voice was curious, not sharp as usual, just calm, and curious.  
  
Hermione made out his form in the darkness, his hair glinting white gold in the moonlight. She moved back to her bed, sliding under her comforter and putting as much fabric as she could between herself and the Slytherin. "Hate is a strong word." His laugh was a little harsh, and she heard him move closer to her. "It's more like an. intense dislike."  
  
"Mm." he murmured, sitting at the foot of her bed, dignified in his posture. She took a moment to study him; he looked down, something he rarely did, as if studying the hardwood floor beneath his bare feet. He wore a set of thin black silk pajamas. Hermione felt a smile play at her lips. If ever she had imagined what Draco habitually wore to bed, which she didn't, this would be it. What surprised her most was that there was not an air of teasing about him. No maliciousness. Hermione leaned back, and thought that since she woke up she had not felt the familiar sense of foreboding that she usually felt when she was in danger. Which had been often in her short life. He was simply inquiring, not threatening, as usual. His voice made her shiver when he spoke suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts. "Do you think that maybe we can stop this?"  
  
Coughing, she said, "After all of these years-after all of the torments and you treating me like, like, crap, you want to know if we can stop?" She was not angry. She thought that in this situation she might take cover in a holier-than-thou attitude, but this late at night Hermione could hardly muster up her normal sure-of-self tone.  
  
"As odd as this sounds, Granger, I want to be your friend." Draco's hands gripped his knees, his knuckles whitening, obviously hating himself for the admission.  
  
Her laugh sounded harsh to her own ears. "And what bet are you trying to win, Slytherin?" she sneered. iI. sneer?/i  
  
Hermione heard the smile in Draco's voice as he spoke softly. "No bet, actually. It's just, you and I are alike in many ways. We are both intelligent people." She thought on this, deciding that she had to grudgingly agree that point. In most of her classes, Draco was the only one that came near to touching her grades. The competition between them seemed all the greater, especially since she rarely saw him study. "My own cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, well. let us just say that the conversation isn't exactly the most stimulating intellectually."  
  
She laughed outright. Crabbe and Goyle were quite dense, though it pained her to be that cruel. She often thought that the two should wear velcro shoes, so that they might save some brainpower for simple algebra rather than using it all towards the complexities of tying laces. A blush crept over her face. "Ahem. and why did you come to me? Do you need some help with studying?"  
  
"No."  
  
The corner of his mouth pulled up. Hermione admitted to herself that Draco was a rather attractive individual. His features were delicate, slightly feminine. Minus his determined chin, and thin lips, Draco could win more than one drag show in the right attire. She felt herself smile at the way her thoughts were turning. His body was well made, very much the type that could catch a girl's eye. A little more than average height and naturally lean, Draco had a very graceful air to him. "So." she said, breaking the silence.  
  
He turned to her, his silver eyes rather piercing in the dim light in her room. "I don't think my motives should be known quite yet."  
  
"And that's supposed to reassure me, Malfoy?" She ran a hand through her hair, trying to somewhat tame the wild curls that fell past her shoulders. She was nervous. With her hands busy he might not notice.  
  
"No." He moved towards her silently, his body quite close to hers. She shivered at his closeness.  
  
"Hm. You're not planning on taking advantage of me, are you?" Hermione could not control the unconscious swallow that suddenly came.  
  
Draco chuckled. "You're not exactly my type, Hermione."  
  
"What is it? The fact that I'm a Gryffindor?" she asked, frowning up at him. "Or a Mudblood?"  
  
His grin widened, but his eyes did not get that malicious gleam that was always familiar to them.  
  
"No," he said. "It's definitely the vagina." 


	2. Chapter 1

Confidences Chapter 1  
  
Pairing: Draco/Harry  
  
Rating: R (Not this chapter, but it'll get there. I promise.)  
  
Spoilers: All books  
  
A/N: Thanks for all the fantastic reviews. I'm trying to get the hang of posting on fanfiction.net, so bear with me if I screw things up. All comments appreciated! Just for future reference, I have a few chapters of this written, explaining the quick updates, but after the 2nd updates might be less frequent. But I promise to follow through with the story. Now... on to Draco! (~ ~ signifies thoughts.)  
  
  
  
Four years before  
  
Slamming the door behind him, Draco stalked down the steps of Malfoy Manor. He knew that his father would be a little more than stunned when he realized that his precious son was gone. And on this night of all nights.  
  
Draco heard his father's words still, biting at his ears. ~I did the same when I was your age, boy. It's your turn.~ Tears of frustration came quickly and unbidden, but Draco let them spill over his pale cheeks. The only person that would care enough to slap him was in the front parlor, entertaining. Why could his father not understand that this was not what he wanted, not now?  
  
He quickly walked up the path and to the main gates. Normally shut tight with a locking spell, the giant cast iron gates lay open, giving a false sense of welcome to the manor. Where was he supposed to go? He had only thought to carry his wand and a bit of pocket money with him. Glancing over his shoulder more than a little nervously, he saw only the giant house where he now spent summers and holidays looming against a fiery sky. Tinted that odd shade of red made Malfoy Manor look even more sinister than it usually did. Draco broke out into a run towards the town at the bottom of the hill. It fairly glowed yellow against the bright pink sky. Soon, night would come. Where was he supposed to take shelter?  
  
Sighing, he slowed to a standstill. He couldn't stay with anyone living there. The wizards either feared the man that lived in Malfoy Manor, or were in league with him. He sat down hard on a patch of grass on the side of the path. Running cold hands over his flushed face, Draco shivered at the coolness of the England summer evening. His father had every right to hate him now. He had shown fear of the unknown.  
  
With a nervous look around to make sure that no one drew nearer, he quietly thanked whoever was watching out for him enough to hide his slim body in the growing shadows. The trees whispered around him, wind cursing him for a coward. Tonight was not the night he would become a Death Eater. Maybe it was just him being the typical rebellious teenager, but he was not ready for his father to hand him over to the rest of the Death Eaters for any sort of initiation.  
  
Standing up, Draco moved back into the path and made a split second decision. He held his hand out, and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the wind rushed around him nearly knocking him backwards. Draco peered at the purple triple-decker bus in front of him through partly closed eyes, reading the words "Knight Bus" emblazoned on the front.  
  
"Hello, young man!" the driver welcomed him as he opened the doors to Draco.  
  
Draco stepped into the bus and fished his money out of the pocket of his dark gray trousers, handing it to the driver without a word. There was entirely too much to worry about for him to make small talk with a man that probably had not the slightest idea of the several different forces pulling at him. Between his father and Potter. Draco felt his face twist in hate as the name slipped into his mind, like a potion coursing through his veins. The driver frowned slightly before turning away from the boy.  
  
He moved to the back of the bus with a quiet grace, finding one of the beds in the corner shrouded in dark shadows. A perfect spot for not being seen. He settled onto the soft mattress with a sigh, looking uninterestedly as the driver conversed with a young man that walked to the front. Probably the conductor. He had probably been seeing to some of the other passengers when Draco had gotten on the bus. ~Maybe Diagon Alley would be the best place to pass a day or two, until his father calmed~, Draco thought as he lounged back, his legs sprawled out on the bed before him.  
  
The bus drove along, the rhythm almost lulling him to sleep despite the many horrors that came to his mind. Draco's vivid imagination conjured things like blood and sharp objects and strange rituals to evil maniacs. And none of those musings were things that should have helped him sleep. But somehow, even though his own mind worked against him, the room he was in made him feel safe. Something about the pristine white of the bedclothes, and the wafting smell of hot chocolate that was thick in the air made Draco feel more comfortable than he did in his own bed in his own home.  
  
Comfortable was something he hadn't felt in a long time. When he had thought of going home for the summer, he was excited. He and his parents had planned to take a vacation to the United States to visit some estranged family members. Draco had looked forward to this trip. He had never been to the States before and was intrigued by the differences that he had read about between the two wizarding communities in Witch Weekly as well as various books he had picked up in the Hogwarts library. He chuckled as he imagined that Granger girl's face if she discovered that he actually read quite often. On several occasions he had seen her as she buried her nose into a mountain of schoolwork, always too busy to see him as he found a spot in the back of the library.  
  
Draco's father cancelled the vacation, to Draco's vast displeasure. Since Potter had again foiled one of Voldemort's plots at the end of their second year, Lucius had thought it necessary to stay near enough to be at the Dark Lord's beck and call. Draco sneered at the thought of being so completely engrossed in a belief. He found himself so indecisive, the main reason that he refused to become a Death Eater that night. It wasn't so much the fear of what would happen to him at the hands of the older wizards, but the thought of committing himself so fully to a cause he had no idea if he believed in.  
  
Turning slightly, Draco peered out into the darkness that rushed outside of the bus, that same darkness seemingly creeping through his thoughts. He shivered, hugging himself as he pressed himself back against the pillows. Sadly, there was nothing around him to keep his mind occupied. No books, no newspapers.  
  
Just as quickly as the bus had appeared before him a matter of minutes ago, it screeched to a halt yet again. This time, Draco saw the faint light illuminating a paved street. He looked up at the source noting that they were kind of like torches, but they had glass covers. Houses that looked very similar to each other lined the street, some windows glowing yellow. All the houses were of brick, perfectly made replicas of the one before it. He thought of how bored he could be, living on a street like this.  
  
Maybe he became a little too engrossed with how alike these houses were. Maybe he should have paid more attention as to who was entering the bus rather than the man bringing a large bag to the curb without looking at the rather large vehicle in the middle of the road.  
  
Because he fairly fell off the bed when he heard Harry Potter introduce himself as Neville Longbottom. 


	3. Chapter 2

Confidences Chapter 2  
  
Pairing: Draco/Harry  
  
Rating: R (Not this chapter, but it'll get there. I promise.)  
  
Spoilers: All books  
  
A/N: ~ ~ still signifies italics. This is the last of my prewritten chapters, but I should be writing a new one soon since my beta will kick me in the ass if I don't. Please r/r!  
  
Draco inhaled sharply, seeing the one person that he was obligated to loathe enter the very same bus for stranded witches or wizard that he was traveling on. And he could in no way call himself very dignified, sprawled as he was between the couple of beds that he had fallen between. Why on earth was Potter calling himself Longbottom? Draco had no inclination towards the Boy Who Lived, in fact despised him and all the uncalled for attention that he received, but at least Potter was not that simpering excuse for a boy who jumped at his own shadow. Draco had to at least gave Potter one thing: He had balls.  
  
The warm light in the front of the bus played across Potter's features as he conversed rather awkwardly with the young man that had greeted him. Potter kept tugging at his unruly hair, as if willing it to grow longer and encompass him, instead of making sure it just served to hide the scar that glared an angry red across his forehead. Draco felt a smirk tug at his lips. ~Aren't I the observant one~, he thought, moving back up onto the bed and settling back into the shadows. Though often Draco was noticed for his own unique features, with the shimmering pale blonde hair and his piercing gray glare, now was not a time for him to stand out. What was it his father said about enemies? Something about the more you knew of them, the better equipped you were. ~And Malfoys always have the upper hand.~  
  
He undid the coverlet on the bed, and slid himself under, grimacing at the discomfort of not removing his shoes. The bus shuddered as it changed gears and pierced forward into the dark night. Chuckling as he watched Potter knocked back on his arse, he noticed that the young man with the protruding ears was just as amused as he was. They began to talk quietly, and he really didn't care what was said. Draco quietly appreciated the warmth that permeated the calm interior of the Knight Bus, and settled in with covers to his nose.  
  
~Why is Potter all about anonymity all of a sudden?~ Draco mused to himself, stretched in the comfortable bed. The object of his thoughts looked remarkably similar to a cornered rabbit. Potter still tugged at his hair every now and again, as his eyes often flitted back to the window, even though he was talking to the men sitting at the wheel. They didn't need to speak over loudly, as Potter was sitting on the bed immediately behind the driver.  
  
Silently, Draco took in his classmate's appearance. His hair looking like he'd gotten caught in a windstorm, just like always. It was more his clothes that Draco raised his eyebrows at. Potter was not underfed, by any means, but his clothing swallowed him. The sweater he wore, a sick powder blue that washed out his already pale skin, was slightly frayed at the hem. Along with being about ten sizes too large. His slacks, a dark gray, were of a nice material, but similar to the sweater, entirely too huge for the Gryffindor. Smirking, Draco realized that he expected bad taste out of such a nitwit as Potter. But at the same time, he thought that at school Potter seemed to pay a little more attention to his attire. It was almost as if he was taking a page out of the Weasley's book and wearing hand-me- downs.  
  
After a few dark thoughts about the best friend of the boy now reading a newspaper and not noticing Draco's close scrutiny of him, Draco's thoughts once more went to his archenemy. ~Since when was Potter poor?~ His aristocratic nose fairly wrinkled at the thought of poverty being in the same vicinity as him. Shaking that idea off nearly as soon as it entered his mind, Draco decided that something had to be wrong with Potter's home life. It didn't add up. Potter always appeared to be of comfortable circumstances, nice clothes and a nice broom, second only to the Slytherins' since the beginning of second year.  
  
He closed his eyes, pondering Potter's financial state, coming again to the conclusion that this new getup he was in had to be linked to his home life. Draco probably drifted to sleep for a few minutes because when he opened his eyes again, the bus had stopped, with the driver looking ahead, an expression of boredom set on his face, Potter as well as the rather verbose young man exiting the bus. He tossed the covers aside and slid out of bed, and looked for a means to follow Potter without him noticing that he had a stalker.  
  
Draco chuckled under his breath as he darted for the back exit of the bus. ~The day I stalk Potter.~ Waving at the driver in the rearview mirror, Draco threw open the back door, and hopped into the middle of Diagon Alley. The young man had entered the bus once more, this time assisting the driver with Potter's trunk. Harry and Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, were conversing. It was obvious that Potter's weak cover was blown. The Boy Who Lived was fidgeting nervously as he spoke. He and Fudge entered the Leaky Cauldron quietly and Draco Malfoy stood watching the Knight Bus disappear with a bang.  
  
Though his curiosity was peaked by Potter's strange behavior, Draco chose to not follow the boy into the inn. As a Slytherin, Draco Malfoy knew how to be sneaky and conniving. Sitting at the bar as Potter discussed whatever with the Ministry of Magic was a little too conspicuous for him. Instead he turned heel and chose to just think about his enemy.  
  
Diagon Alley was a gorgeous place at night, and he appreciated things of beauty. Rich people usually did. He noted that the main part of the wizarding world of London died in the late hours. A hum of activity resonated from Knockturn Alley, but he knew better than to go there. The possibility of running into his father's friends was entirely too great. So Draco contented himself to leisurely walking through the closed shops, the charmed torches following him.  
  
Shivering, he sighed, knowing that he couldn't use magic to even mutter a warming spell. ~If I was at home~, he thought to himself as the cool summer air caressed him a little too roughly despite the black sweater that he wore. There was nothing at home for him, except the Dark Mark ready and willing to be cut deep into his skin, his very own essence. He stopped suddenly. If Draco had been on that bus because of his wretched home life, was Potter there for similar reasons? Draco might be all about the big bad, but he was nowhere near stupid. Potter was upset enough to be prepared to leave his home. He had his trunk all packed. The Boy Who Lived wasn't going back to wherever he left.  
  
~Why is Potter all of a sudden interesting to me?~ His own voice bit at him, harsh even in his own head. ~Know your enemy.~ Good enough reason, he supposed. Draco walked more, pushing Potter from his current thoughts, wondering where he could possibly stay for the night.  
  
He nearly fainted when a hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him into a dim corner. A wicked smile was all he saw, but it was enough. Draco recognized a Malfoy smile. "Boy, you'd have done yourself a bigger favor if you had gone to a relative's," Lucius Malfoy hissed as his hand near crushed the delicate bones in Draco's hand as the boy struggled, in a very un-Malfoy-like way.  
  
"I didn't know you cared, Father," Draco smiled coldly.  
  
His father stepped from the shadows, the expression on his face mirroring his son's. Draco spared a glance at their reflection in a shop window. They were pretty, delicate with a dark and sharp edge. "Your mother was worried. I thought I'd escort you home safely."  
  
Lucius apparated, his son with him, back to the Manor. Draco clenched his teeth, a thought of Harry Potter flashing suddenly into his mind even though Draco really should have been thinking of the punishments awaiting him for his own latest acts of disobedience. 


End file.
